


Observational Skills

by threewalls



Category: Youkai Ningen Bem (TV 2011)
Genre: Beginnings, Domestic, First Time, Frottage, Future Fic, Horn Stimulation, M/M, Making Out, Snow and Ice, Stealth Crossover, Unconventional Families, Youkai, Yuletide 2011
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-22
Updated: 2011-12-22
Packaged: 2017-10-27 20:43:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/299856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/threewalls/pseuds/threewalls
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><cite>They transfer twice; Natsume wakes up just as they pull into Tomakomai, with Bem staring at him with such perfect, content focus that Natsume can only smile.</cite></p>
            </blockquote>





	Observational Skills

**Author's Note:**

  * For [celticdrum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/celticdrum/gifts).



> I have a feeling this won't be compliant with the yet unscreened final episode. Let's call it a pre-emptive AU. I hope you enjoy!

The plan starts one night, when Nao comes to bed with an idea in her eyes.

"Another family man would be a good choice. Very stable," she says to Natsume. "Emi-chan and I have been talking."

A few days later, Natsume returns home to find his wife, Bela and Emi laughing like old friends around the dining room table. The women already have the train timetables up on Emi's smartphone. Natsume gives them their best guesses about when his and Bem's current case looks like it'll wrap up, glancing back every few seconds at Bem, in case he has anything to add.

"Auntie Emi is my mum's best friend," Yui-chan explains.

"Ah," Bero says. "Like Papa-san is Bem's best friend."

Bem only smiles at Natsume over the children's heads. They have tickets booked before dinnertime.

\---

The thing about being a private detective is that you make your own hours. They clock off with the after school bell, enough time to eat an early dinner and for Natsume to hug Yui hard enough to last all weekend. Nao squeezes his hand goodbye, and whispers again what nice manners Bem has. Natsume doesn't catch whatever Bela mutters to herself, but it makes colour come to the rise of Bem's cheeks.

The colour's still there after their walk to the station, wind chill and fuzzy scarfs and Bem's protests that he doesn't feel the cold aside. It was dark when they left Natsume's home, but it's darker outside when there's no longer the fast-flickering lights of the city outside. They eat the bento Nao and Bela packed, bursting gyosa and precisely trimmed carrots. Everything tastes good. They transfer twice; Natsume wakes up just as they pull into Tomakomai, with Bem staring at him with such perfect, content focus that Natsume can only smile.

Shiraoi is a small town, where Emi lived as a girl, before she came to Tokyo to become a businesswoman and to fall in love with Natsume's wife. The house is small, too, but in good repair. It's not the house Emi grew up in, but a smaller one bought for herself. It's older than she is, though Natsume has never been so awkward to ask; it's older than he is, though perhaps not older than Bem. It's on the outskirts of town, and there are no obvious eyes to see them as Natsume parks their rental car and he and Bem climb out into the snow.

Bem helps Natsume carry the groceries into the kitchen, setting them down bag by bag to fill the small kitchen counter. The fixtures are old, but well-scrubbed, and after they find the gas tank behind the house, they have a ring of blue fire on the stove.

"Are you hungry?" Natsume asks Bem, who nods.

It's easy for Natsume to busy himself in the kitchen, and to send Bem to investigate where they will sleep. Natsume chops cabbage into thin strips with a cleaver to the sound of sliding doors and rustle of sheets. He has an audience before the okonomiyaki is cooked, but it turns out well, if Natsume does say so himself. Bem washes up the dishes; Natsume dries.

There's no one else in the streets as they walk, no Tokyo crowds pressing them to walk more closely together, just their breath fogging, the afternoon sun on the snow.

"Have you visited to this town before?" Natsume asks.

"Yes," Bem says, glancing up from under the brim of his hat. "But not recently."

Natsume makes ramen for dinner, bachelor food, topping each bowl with a poached egg. He would apologise for not knowing how to make fancier meals, but Bem's blissful expression stops the words from coming out. They're sitting on the carpet in the room closest to the kitchen, and one of Bem's sock-footed feet brushes Natsume's.

Bem takes the first bath, and Natsume discovers that there's only one futon, two pillows, one quilt. It's hard not to think of Nao here, with Emi, even though they haven't been here since the leaves were red and gold. Natsume has a very understanding wife, he thinks-- and that would be when Bem walks back into the room, with a towel held cautiously around his hips.

"I left the water for you," he says, water dripping down his bare chest from the whisps of his hair escaping from its ponytail.

When Natsume returns from his own bath, Bem is lying on his side, maroon sweater visible on the rise of his shoulder. Natsume kneels and pulls a white T-shirt and black shorts out of his rucksack. He hears Bem shifting as he dresses, but when he turns to climb under the quilt, Bem's only rolled onto his back. His eyes are closed, and he's still lying along the far side of the futon.

They lie there, two heads angling towards each other on separate pillows. The futon is large enough that they don't have to be touching.

Natsume turned off the portable gas heater before he slid under the other side of the quilt, but he hadn't thought to shut the blinds. The windows are floor to ceiling, bare branches outside and moonlight on snow. He can't see the neighbouring house, even though it's less than a stone's throw away. They haven't turned on their lights all evening.

The sheets and quilt here are pale and beige. They hide nothing. Natsume can see the straight shape of his own legs, parallel to Bem's. From the corner of his eye, he can see Bem's profile, his horns pushing through his bangs, the bump on his nose, the deliberately even rise and fall of his chest.

"Bem-san--?" he whispers.

Bem turns over to face him fully. His hair is loose, backlit by moonlight, falling around his face like a veil. He goes still, like a statue, when Natsume reaches across the space between them and if Natsume's hand could blush, it would be doing so.

He isn't Nao, who knew what kind of people she liked in high school and dated more people at university than Natsume has kissed in his life. Nao, who, five years ago, couldn't keep waiting for the right moment to share with him something so important about herself. His wife is a good friend, and they've had fun together. But he was still so relieved when she met Emi and started smiling at nothing again. Natsume hadn't been sure that he was like her until now, that he could want someone this much without knowing where to put his hands.

Natsume wishes he did know where to put his hands. Bem can move very quickly, he reasons to himself. Still could be a good thing, still could be waiting and Bem is the most patient person Natsume knows.

He tugs on Bem's nose, thumb and finger either side of the bridge of Bem's human nose, hoping for at least a smile. What he gets is Bem suddenly holding his hand, his palm cradling the back of Natsume's palm, laying their hands against his own cheek. His hair is soft against Natsume's fingertips as Natsume tucks a lock behind Bem's ear. Natsume traces the shell of Bem's ear, the curve, the shape, exploring.

Bem exhales, a soft sound, one Natsume might have missed if he hadn't been listening for it. The skin over Bem's horns feels just like skin, a little rough, like running your fingertip across the lines of someone's palm.

Bem has turned his face into their linked hands. Their knees are touching. The distance of forearms and thighs, elbows and knees, is too much. Natsume puts their hands on Bem's shoulder, and pulls.

Kissing is not confusing. Kissing is easy, and so is fitting his body close to Bem's, Natsume's hips between Bem's spread legs. It's easier to be sure when Bem's hands have slid underneath Natsume's clothes, one hand flat between his shoulder blades, the other curved down the back of his shorts.

"Natsume," Bem gasps, a lower voice, a rougher voice, as Natsume's tongue licks over growing fangs. He moves his mouth to the arch of Bem's neck. He can feel Bem's heart racing with his lips. He can feel Bem's claws growing, his careful hold loosening.

"It's ok," Natsume says. His lips are dry and there's sweat under his arms and behind his knees and he never wants to stop moving like this, rolling against Bem, who is hard and wonderful underneath him.

He thinks of the time Bem saved him from falling pipes, of the monster he didn't yet know was Bem straddling Natsume's hips. He wonders if Bem would like to be on top next time. He also thinks he might like the claws.

"It doesn't hurt."

Bem's hand is toying with the hem of Natsume's shirt, under and over, and under again. None of what he's said sounds like Natsume should stop, but he pulls back a little just in case.

"It's-- I feel so much, but it doesn't hurt." Bem stares up at him. Maybe Bem is having trouble thinking in words, too.

Natsume pulls his T-shirt up over his head, and then Bem is wriggling out of his sweater, and their clothes fly off somewhere into the shadows. The rest of Bem's body is as hairless as his chest, which is something else for next time. All the many happy next times to look forward to.

"I want you," Bem growls, like it was a decision he'd just made, and puts his hands on Natsume's shoulders to pull him back down, his breath hot and short and harsh against Natsume's mouth. Natsume can feel the press of Bem's horns and the length of his teeth, Bem's arms tight again across his back and Bem's hips rocking to meet Natsume's thrusts until Bem makes a broken-off noise, deep in his throat, sticky wet pulsing between them; Natsume takes another few strokes. He comes with Bem whispering, breathless: "Please."

To be considerate, Natsume rolls off to the side, and looks for his T-shirt. He finds his shorts, but it works well enough to clean them up. Bem waits until they're both lying on their backs, before climbing into Natsume's arms, settling with his head on Natsume's shoulder. He's heavier than he looks, for his build and his height, but Natsume likes the weight. He brushes a hand down the length of Bem's back, noses a kiss against his forehead, licking the side of a horn.

Bem clutches at Natsume's shoulder. (Natsume thinks he will like the claws a lot.) "They're-- sensitive."

"Sensitive always or sensitive because we just-- maa, sorry. Maybe that's a personal question."

"I think that you are allowed to ask personal questions of me now, Natsume."

"Ah. I guess so," Natsume agrees.

He licks a broad stripe over the horn, and then another. They taste like skin, salt and musk. A little rough on the tongue, rougher than most of Bem's skin. Maybe not the patches of scales on his shoulders. Natsume wonders if they would taste different, or just feel different. Natsume stretches a little to see what happens if he takes one of Bem's horns completely in his mouth.

Bem gasps, a breathy noise that becomes a chuckle.

"You're ticklish there, too?"

"Yes," Bem says. "May I ask a personal question, Natsume?"

Bem's fingers are counting Natsume's ribs.

"Sure."

"Where are _you_ ticklish?"


End file.
